Snapshot
by skabs
Summary: Just a snapshot of their lives before the demon came to visit. slightly sappy, should make you smile.


just a snap shot that came to me, much in the same way my last one did. i really enjoy the show Supernatural, and i hope it has a long life.

Supernatural does not belong to me, it and the awesome characters of Mary, John, Dean, and Sammy Winchester belong to Eric Kripke. thank you Eric

* * *

He is listening to _Bad Moon Rising_ as he's out on the back deck, pushing up, letting himself down. Continuing his daily habit of push ups and sit ups, he smirks as I shake my head. He is wearing those ratty old sweatpants I must have told him to get rid of at least a million times. At least it's CCR this time, and not one of those new irritating bands our son has been getting into lately. I still have no idea how Dean got into those bands, it's not like a four year old can go out to the music store and pick up cassettes all on his own. Sometimes he'll let Dean push a cassette into the tape deck while they're both out there.

Maybe I should give John more credit. At least he knows what Dean is listening to; he'd curtail it quickly if it was too graphic. Dean has long since stopped doing push-ups, and sits marveling at the amount his father can do. Three hundred every morning, without fail, he tells me. Marines never give up, they just go harder. John smiles; listening to the cliché, coming out of Dean's mouth like its sermon.

I watch; fascinated as always, by how John's arms twitch, his muscles shake ever so slightly as he finishes. Sweat beads invitingly on his bare back, slipping down his spine, soaking the tips of his hair. He's always done his routine using his fists, and it wasn't until he told Dean to lay his hands flat on the concrete while doing his, that I realized that the harsh surface must hurt his knuckles. But he'd never changed it, even when I asked, pissed, what it was he had to prove. He just chuckled, his deep voice a bit gravelly after he'd kissed me, and told me that Marines don't change.

If I didn't love the man so much that Marine crap might irritate me. But I watch as he flips to his back and rests his arms behind his head. His tight abs shine with sweat.

"Dean, switch the cassette," he tells our child. Dean smiles up at me, clearly enthused to be given such an important task. John starts his reps, smirks up at me. Yes John, I think, you're a genius, giving Dean something to do while you get the first hundred done, he'll do at least fifty with you and then watch the rest, frustrated that he couldn't finish with you, but he won't be fidgeting with boredom until you're almost done.

Dean rummages through the box of cassettes and switches them out before I can check it.

"_Carry on oh Wayward son_

_They'll be piece when you are done_

_Lay your weary head to rest_

_Don't you cry no more…"_

Kansas, that's fine. Dean rushes over and hugs me around my knees before lying next to his father and placing his hands under his head. But before he can do more than twenty sit ups he's getting to his feet and running from the porch with purpose on his chubby face. I chuckle as John snorts in amusement. He doesn't stop as I turn around to follow our son, but I feel his eyes on me as I leave. I turn around briefly and give him a wicked smile. He returns it as he grunts.

I've given up trying to figure out how it is that Dean can feel Sammy gathering for a good cry. He's an enthusiastic big brother, always ready to cuddle Sammy, always insisting that he can help. The dryer dings cheerfully, done with its spin cycle as Dean carries Sammy downstairs. Carefully, because his father demonstrated how frail Sammy's neck was when he was first born, Dean cradles his head against his shoulder, on hand on the base for support. Sammy, of course, is tougher now than when he first came out, and is fighting to see everything in the house as Dean brings him over to me.

_"I close my eyes_

_Only for a moment_

_And the moments gone_

_All my dreams_

_Pass before my eyes and curiosity_

_Dust in the wind_

_All we are is dust in the wind…"_

I finish pulling the towels out of the dryer and pick up Dean, still holding Sammy, and set them both in the warm basket. I smile at Dean, who turns his brother around in his lap, so both my son's eyes watch me pull the wet t-shirts from the washer and place them in the dryer. I dangle a t-shirt over Dean's face, giggling as he bats the wet fabric away. Sammy tries to grab hold, but misses as I pull it back. He pouts, but a smile crosses his face as Dean croons the song now playing in his ears. Over the first few months I was disappointed when Sammy's eyes didn't turn green like Dean's did, but when I realized that whatever he was wearing tended to give his eyes a different tint I forgave John's family for their hazel dominance. His eyes seem very blue, surrounded by his blue one piece and Deans t-shirt.

John has finished his sit-ups, just in time to pick up the basket with the boys in it, lugging them like so much laundry out into the family room. They laugh, like their father, big booming laughs crowded by smaller ones, set in the same rhythm. Sammy grabs onto Johns sweaty hair as he cuddles his youngest against his chest. Dean shimmies up his father's leg and settles himself on John's hip, his arms around John's neck.

Not every morning is like this, but I watch my boys and smile, thankful for the mornings that are. With John watching his two boys, shocked and amazed that they came from him, Dean looking up at his father, trusting that there is nothing he can't do, and my Sammy. My Sammy, still so young and fragile, I can hardly wait until he can scamper around like my Dean, chasing each other like my cousins used to. I can almost hear them calling each other childish names already.

John looks up at my laugh, Dean turns to look at me with a blinding smile, and Sammy has fallen asleep again on his father's shoulder.

* * *

i'm not sure as to what color their eyes are, i couldn't find a mention, but i'm of the majority, it seems, in fanfiction that Dean's eyes are green.

also, thanks for Creedence Clearwater Revival and Kansas for their awesome songs.

I also believe that Dean calls Sam, Sammy, not only because it annoys him, but because he probably got into the habit of saying it around Mary. He wouldn't want to let that connection go.


End file.
